


anyplace but those i know by heart

by karples



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karples/pseuds/karples
Summary: Somehow, Dick doubts that this is what Clark meant when he told Dick togo be a young adult.Or: Dick and Roy, on the Oregon Trail. Sort of.





	anyplace but those i know by heart

**Author's Note:**

> these was originally posted in oct 2016, removed because i had mixed feelings about it, and posted again because i realized i don't hate it as much as i thought i did and i'm excavating the tomb of my google drive right now, haha.
> 
> title from follow you down (gin blossoms cover) by pop etc.
> 
> takes place shortly before the new teen titans era, aka the one with vic, gar, donna, kory, wally & raven. in this fic, i went with the old canon for the teen titans, in which roy wasn’t really an official member of the titans, but frequently tagged along anyway. dick & roy are between 19-20. dick’s still robin, & roy’s with the cbi.

Four days ago, Clark said over the phone, “Take a break, Dick. That’s my best advice--take a break, be a normal young adult for a week, a month. You need space, Bruce needs space, so give yourselves some space.”

Dick’s giving Bruce a lot of space. Dick’s giving Bruce a whole continent’s worth of space.

Dick slams the trunk of the rental car, acquired using Roy’s fake ID, and crawls into the driver’s side. The ceiling’s way too low, dented like Mammoth stomped on its hood, but at least they got it cheap. The scent of wax and foam swells in Dick’s nose, and he feels like he’s chewing cotton.

“ _Stick?_ ” Roy demands, pointing at the gear shift.

“It was a great deal, we saved big-time,” Dick insists, insides buzzing with an inexplicable static. Roy might be fine with spite-spending Ollie’s finances, but Dick doesn't want Batman to track him via his purchase history. Dick jangles the keys, and Roy predictably swipes at them. The keys are still jangling and Roy’s still laughing when Dick starts the car to test out the A/C.

The current from the vents is weak and feeble. Bad news, since it’s summer in Oregon, but Roy breaks into a sharkish smile, and Dick’s instantly suspicious.

“Should’ve known you’d ride stick,” Roy says. Dick waits for the _real_ punchline, and there it is: Roy makes an obscene gesture, like he’s stroking an imaginary-- “Or, y’know, that you’d know how to handle ‘em. It’s all in the name, huh?”

“Speak for yourself.” Dick knows this game, mimes drawing an arrow and releasing it. “ _Speedy_ , am I right?”

Roy swears and swats at Dick, delighted, and Dick ducks. “Nah, that’s Kid Fast,” Roy says, and Dick freezes up a second too long, because that’s not who Wally is anymore.

Roy looks like he’d rather be someplace else, which Dick suspects is a defense mechanism. Fine, if that’s how Roy wants to play. Dick tosses a roadmap onto Roy’s face, startling him.

“What the hell, I think you gave me a paper cut,” Roy says, checking himself in the side mirror. “Why’re we even using this? Just use your Bat-PS--”

Dick puts his hand on the stick, determined to not think about other kinds of sticks. “If we’re going to do normal, we’re going to do this right.”

For a moment, Roy just stares at Dick, intent enough that Dick wonders if he shouldn’t have accepted Roy’s invitation to go on a road trip. Then Roy cracks a grin, and the tension filters out like sand through a sieve.

“Fine,” Roy says. “But for the record, if we get lost? That’s all on you.”

“Well, how hard can it be?” Dick adjusts his rear view, easing up on the parking brake and backing out of the lot, and--holy famous last words, Batman.

Four hours later finds them circling what Dick is convinced is the same wheat field, only he’s got no real evidence beyond gut instinct. He’s ninety-five percent certain that Roy’s behind this, but he can’t pin a motive to Roy, who’s gotten so inconsistent and faraway that Dick’s scared that they’ll lose each other, quietly, effortlessly, the same way that the team drifted apart.

“What now,” Dick mutters.

“Take a right,” Roy drawls, legs kicked up on the dashboard. Dick hits the horn in frustration, and a spike of guilt peaks in his chest. There are no cars for miles and miles around, just flat golden fields, rustling asynchronously, but Dick still shouldn’t have acted out. He’s an _adult_ , albeit a young one, and he’s _better_ than this.

“Roy, there _is_ no right. There is no left. There is _only forward._ ”

“Damn,” Roy says, inattentive. “Guess we’re lost then.”

Dick slumps over the wheel, letting the car stall, and makes his fists right, just for the comfort of holding something tight, even if it’s only himself. Roy silently cranks his window lower, the lever squeaking. The afternoon’s verging on early dusk, heavy and bloated with dust.

Broad and calloused, Roy’s palm slides over Dick’s hand, the one curled over the stick. A feeling as bright as the inland sun zings up Dick’s spine. Dick knows he should say something, anything, but his words have been seized from him.

“Relax,” Roy says, warm and familiar. “D’you ever _unwind_?” He rubs a rose curve into the soft skin between Dick’s knuckles, and Dick’s mouth works like a fish’s does, seeking oxygen.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dick says.

Roy gives him a lopsided half-smile. “You guess?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Dick says, a little irritated now. His lungs are too tight, breathless. “Yeah, I _guess_ , why’re you being so roundabout, what’s your point?”

“Jesus, kill a guy for trying,” Roy says, shaking his head. “I was leaving myself room to chicken out, okay. An exit plan.”

“‘Chicken out’?” Dick echoes, incredulous. “Roy, you were obvious as--”

And Roy wraps his fingers around Dick’s wrist, catching Dick by the opposite shoulder, pushing him into his seat, the coils creaking. A strip of orange light flashes and winks out in the rearview mirror.

Roy says, “Look, Dick...” Dick’s looking, can’t stop looking. “Can I kiss you?”

A funny, anticipatory fluttering creeps up Dick’s throat, forcing him to blink fast, faster. He nods, eyelids already drooping shut, and Roy crushes their mouths together. It’s sloppy and rushed, like Roy’s trying to make Dick understand, but the meaning’s lost in Roy’s incomprehensible murmuring, “Good, you’re so _good_ , you don’t even know,” and Roy’s tongue travelling down Dick’s neck. Dick hangs onto Roy’s back, gathering and smoothing out the fabric, damp with sweat, and Roy curses and tugs on Dick’s collar.

“Can I,” Roy says, low. “Let me--”

When Dick nods again, Roy sucks a hard kiss into the V of Dick’s clavicles. The car jolts forward five feet, and Dick jumps. They groan at the friction, and it occurs to Dick that they’re stopped in the middle of the road.

“Roy,” Dick whispers, then louder: “ _Roy_ , the car--we need to move the car, this’s a legal offense. And a safety hazard.”

Roy backs off, dragging his lips across the back of his hand, a gleaming wet smear. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” He sounds composed and unaffected, which surprises Dick, until he realizes that Roy’s steeling himself for rejection.

Dick breathes in and doesn’t breathe out, trapping the air until he can’t keep it in anymore, he has to let it go. He parallel-parks alongside a crooked fence, black wood and barbed wire, and yanks out the keys. Roy shifts, uncertain, like he hadn’t actually expected Dick to move the car.

Without the omnipresent rumble of the engine, the air is filled with the sweet, scratchy susurrus of wheat. A wave of dry heat rolls in, breaking over them as Dick leans over the central divide and touches Roy’s belt buckle.

Dick doubts that this is what Clark meant when he told Dick to _go be a young adult._

“Can I?” he says, strangely empty of fear or anxiety. Roy’s speechless, pleased, surprised to be pleased. Dick’s not new to handjobs or blowjobs, but he’s not an _expert_ either, and Roy knows it--the Teen Titans were always up in each other’s business, and Roy orbited them, near enough to hear the gossip, far enough to avoid the fallout.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Roy says amiably, as though he’s doing Dick a huge favor, but he’s less than graceful when he undoes his belt and pops the button on his dark-wash jeans. The sound of the zipper is silver and electrifying. Dick strokes him, then asks to suck him off, then buries his face in Roy’s lap.

Roy’s fingers tighten in his hair, alternately pulling and soothing. “Up,” he orders, “no, your tongue, there,” and “Hollow out your--yeah, yeah...”

The muscles of Roy’s stomach clench and tremble, like silk and water under his skin, and Dick shivers, jaw aching, on fire. “I’m close,” Roy warns him, strained. “Ah, fuck, like that--”

Tensing, he comes in Dick’s mouth, bitter and alkaline. Dick isn’t prepared for the amount or the taste--he never is, never has been--and he lunges for the door latch to spit over the side.

“Mmm,” Dick says, panting. Roy’s winded and dazed, but he hauls Dick back in and thumbs the come off of Dick’s lower lip and lets Dick rest his forehead against against Roy’s thigh.

“We still aren’t using the Bat-PS,” Dick says, as an afterthought.

Idly, Roy pets Dick’s hair, matted to his temples. “Yeah,” Roy sighs. “Let’s stay lost for a while longer.”


End file.
